


It’s the FireWhiskey talking

by oh0kaythen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, DracoxHarry - Freeform, Drarry, Fluff, M/M, draco is hella gay, dracomalfoyxharrypotter, harry is hella bi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 17:04:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12988521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh0kaythen/pseuds/oh0kaythen
Summary: Harry is at the Leaky Cauldron about a year after the war and he sees the person he hadn’t talked to since before the war. His ex-enemy, Draco Malfoy.





	It’s the FireWhiskey talking

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy! I wrote this a bit back and posted it on my wattpad, but here it is!  
> \- a heterosexual boy who writes homosexual fanfic
> 
> and also heterosexual fanfic but that’s not the point.

The newly employed bartender of the Leaky Cauldron pushed a tumbler half full of brownish coloured Fire Whisky towards a bloke of 20 in a black Muggle hoodie, the scraping of the glass against old wood ringing in the young man’s ear. He brought it up to his lips and took a long swig from the glass. He turned the glass round in circles, not caring if the drink spilled over the side, though it didn’t anyway. The movements sent ripples through the golden liquid, and he noted the burning in his gut as he took another sip. He didn’t care. Ever since the war he hadn’t cared and that was over a year ago. Memories of the war were just crumbling ruins of the place he had come to call home and the dead bodies piling up like a barrier blocking any of the happy memories from Hogwarts to be pulled out again, his mind settling only on those of Remus, of Sirius, of Tonks, of Fred, of Mad Eye, of every one of his friends and family, by blood or by heart ruthlessly slaughtered and thrown onto the list of victims from The Battle of Hogwarts. 

Losing touch was the hardest part, although it was gradual, and not necessarily intentional. He hadn’t spoken to Ron or Hermione for what seemed like centuries but he knew was only a few months. He now resorted to only speaking when spoken to or when ordering alcohol, wether Muggle whiskey or Fire Whiskey, the latter having more effect, and by that he meant letting him lose himself to his thoughts. Harry Potter wasn’t violent when he got drunk, thank Merlin, because it seemed most of the people in this disheveled place were asking for a punch in the jaw, or a hex to their turned backs. He drinks to get drunk and when he achieves the goal, he goes into a state of being emotionally numb and closed off from the world around him. Harry was glad he had opted for new glasses and Muggle hoodies that were three sizes too big, as he really didn’t fancy being recognised. Today he sported a fully black jumper which had a hood that covered most of Harry’s face, but all he really cared about was the fact his hair met and went past his emerald eyes, meaning it hid his scar tremendously. The new glasses weren’t particularly to disguise himself, they were more to give himself a change. He didn’t want to be known as Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived in his circle rimmed, wire frame glasses, although admittedly he didn’t want to be known as Harry Potter under any circumstances. He opted for some more ‘stylish’ ones, choosing some of his prescription strength in a jet black even deeper than the colour of his hair and a less rounded top, though the bottom stayed circular. They also had a plastic frame rather than wire, making him look less like a dorky schoolboy and more like the sort of person who wears glasses just to look like a millennial hipster. Of course, he was not this sort of person, but he’d give anything to not be Harry for even a day. 

His breakup with Ginny had been the least of his worries, as it had meant another person he didn’t feel he had to talk to more than once a fortnight, and no one was really expecting a big reaction from him seeing as he was the one doing the breaking up. He’d always felt Ginny was more of a friend than a lover, and even Molly wasn’t surprised, nor sad when Harry Potter told her only daughter that he didn’t like her as anything more than a friend. Not that she’d tell Ginny that. 

The War has impacted everyone in different ways, and Harry took that reliable data from a grand total of three of his friends. Hermione said she only felt glad it was over, Ron saying it gave him a sense of pride. Bloody Gryffindors. Luna had said different again, saying we should all look to the future, and not dwell on what has already happened. She also blamed many of the events that weren’t specifically Voldemort’s fault on the Nargles, whatever the fuck they are.

His thoughts were interrupted by a voice next to him, ordering the same drink that Harry was about to bring to his mouth once again. The voice made Harry’s stomach full with butterflies, the flapping of their wings incessantly pounding on his stomach, matching the rhythm of his heart which was beating at the speed of a Nimbus 2001. Because he knew that voice. He knew it well. 

“Thank you.” The voice spoke, the voice that was making Harry’s stomach flip incessantly. The voice wasn’t very deep, but definitely masculine. The way he spoke his vowels was prominent and memorable, the way he spoke with a very slight nasal undertone. The way his voice sounded so small when just ordering some alcohol but so wicked when throwing an insult. The way he seemed to have lost his confidence over the course of only a year. Had it really been that long since he’d last seen the owner of that voice?  
It seemed only yesterday that Harry had seen this boy, but now man, looking so helpless, so lost in completing the Dark Lord’s wishes. He had seen this boy looking so broken, so fragile, at his lowest point. Was it really as far ago as sixth year? 

Harry knew that Draco Malfoy hadn’t recognised Harry. After all, he was wearing a hoodie that covered his face almost completely from a side view, leaving only a view of the tip of his nose. 

The raven haired boy risked a look at who he already knew was Draco. He took in the boy’s appearance for a while. In some ways he hadn’t changed since the war. In others he was barely recognisable. His face was the same face Harry had been taught he should loathe, soft, but creased by his dark blond knitted eyebrows, pale, incredibly pale, and his face was scarred with Harry’s own wrongdoings. His face had grown sharper, cheekbones and jawlines more defined, and his lips were fuller and more of a pale pink when they weren’t pursed and squeezed shut, or in an award winning scowl or sneer. His platinum blond hair no longer had any amount of grease in it, let alone a gallon of the stuff, and he now wore it a similar length to that of his hair in third year, but a little longer on the top and front, the thin ends reaching his blue-grey eyes, and shorter at the bottom of his head. The expression on his face had changed, eyebrows softening and frown becoming more one that reflects nostalgia and pure sadness than the anger and hatred that used to reside in his icy features. 

His face was pretty and youthful, there was no doubt about that. The only true imperfections were the long scars that ran across his face, that Harry knew were also on his chest and stomach, from the sectumsempra curse Harry had inflicted on him in 6th year. There was no way he’d have done it if he knew what it meant. ‘For enemies’. He laughed at that when he considered what it truly meant to have an enemy. To hate someone so much that your blood boils at their name. To hate someone so much you want either to kill them, or to have absolutely nothing to do with them. And Harry definitely didn’t consider Draco his enemy.

Harry had got lost in his train of thoughts, reminiscing about Draco Malfoy. So lost, that he realised too late that his face was on full view to Draco. He heard him clear his throat, and immediately frowned, screwing his eyes shut and putting his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose, realising what an idiot he was, then face palming and making a strange noise when he realised he must have been staring at Draco for the last few minutes. 

“Erm,” he cleared his throat again, “Potter? Something the matter?” The way he spoke said that he was clearly trying to suppress a laugh. 

“Malfoy. Uh... no time long- fuck, erm, long t-“ Harry was cut off by a rather smug voice. 

“I believe ‘long time no see’ was the expression you were looking for.” Draco said, his head was swivelled round on his two clasped hands to meet Harry’s eyes. 

“Yes, I believe so, Draco, though I was getting to tha-“

“How have things been?” Draco asked, completely out of the blue. 

“Did you- did you just show some genuine concern towards me?” Harry was taken aback, shocked by this new side to Malfoy he had managed to unravel in a matter of minutes. 

“Oh don’t sound so shocked, Harry.” Draco sighed, rolling his eyes. 

“And you just called me Harry, rather than... are you alright, Draco?” The green eyed boy asked, muttering the first remark under his breath, though he knew Draco still heard it. 

“Well what do you want me to bloody do, Potter? Show my... my dark mark everywhere I go and act like my father, try and get myself in Azkaban like he did?” Draco spoke in a more hushed voice, not wanting to shout his or his fathers former status as a servant to the dark lord. 

“No, Draco, I’m really sorry, I just- look, I’m just surprised, okay? I haven’t really talked to- well, I haven’t really talked to anyone since after the war.” It was strange admitting something like this to Draco, although, who else would he say anything to, he had lost all contacts to the outside world, the most he spoke was to barmen and shop assistants. 

“No one? Not even the Weasel and the mudbl - Granger girl.” Draco stopped himself from saying the unforgivable, and while, in any other circumstances, Harry would have slapped him there and then, he didn’t react. He knew Malfoy was trying. 

“No. I just couldn’t face talking to them after what happened. Ron’s family aren’t taking the loss of Fred well, especially George, as you’d imagine, and Hermione is more or less one of them now.” 

“But what about your darling girlfriend? However will she cope without the chosen one at her arm?” Draco spat out the word ‘girlfriend’, as if it was a curse, or some kind of dirty word. As if he was offended by the title. 

Harry looked at Draco, puzzled for a few moments, before figuring out. How would he know? “Oh. Right, I forgot. You wouldn’t know, because I- we- we haven’t spoken for- for a while. Ginny and I. We broke up. Well, I broke up with her and- Draco?” The blond haired boy had an awkward, almost painfully bad look of fake-sympathy on his face, as though he was trying to hide the fact he was elated at the news. Harry wondered why. 

“Hm, yes? Oh, yeah, erm, terribly unfortunate, my condolences. Very... devastating.” The blue eyed boy blurted out, equally as awkwardly as the expression that previously plastered his oh-so-perfect face. 

“A touching speech. A lot has changed since... you know, since the war, so” Harry raised his glass up, so it was situated directly between himself and Draco, “to new beginnings.”

Reluctantly, Draco also raised his glass, clinking it with Harry’s own, and giving the emerald eyed boy a nod and a smirk, before both boys took a swig of their Fire Whiskey. Harry was secretly the happiest man in the world to be able to see that smile. He didn’t know he needed it until tonight, and he wondered how many of those smiles he’d missed when they were at school together. He remembered seeing the smirk once before, in third year, when Harry had told him to shut up, and Draco started walking towards him. He remembered the fire in his stomach from pure anger turn into hopeless butterflies thrashing against every bone in his body. Harry wished that had ended in something more than humiliation. 

“You never answered my question.” Draco stated, so quietly that Harry almost didn’t hear it. Draco sounded hurt, but he wasn’t sure why. 

“I didn’t think I needed to. It’s got to the point where my appearance just reflects the fact that things have been anything but fine. I mean, look at me. I’m a mess.” Harry gestured to his old, extremely baggy black jumper, and blushed when he saw what Draco was wearing, instantly regretting asking the blond boy to look at him, considering how bad Harry looked in comparison. 

Draco wore a pastel blue button up shirt that was done up all the way, and Harry hated to use the expression, but it really did bring out the colour in his eyes, the beautiful baby blue that faded into grey. Over the top of the shirt he wore a khaki green knitted jumper that was baggy, but still somehow fit his nimble shape immaculately. If Harry wasn’t already beyond surprised by his muggle attire, Draco was wearing jeans. And not just any bloody jeans, skin tight black jeans that fit his skinny legs almost too well in Harry’s opinion, because Harry was, until this point, a strong believer that no one is truly perfect. 

Draco seemed to be taking in Harry’s appearance as well. “Yes, I had noticed, though your hair was never neat, was it Potter?” Theres the Draco he knew. 

“I truly applaud your observational skills, Draco.” Harry said, in mock admiration, putting his hand to his heart and sighing, fluttering his eyelashes. This was awarded by a gentle slap on the arm from the blue eyed boy and a grin which was returned by the Boy Who Lived. Harry felt, after a long time, happy. 

After a few more lengthy sips of Fire Whiskey, he could really feel the burning alcohol taking its toll on him, filling his bloodstream. And Harry knew what that meant. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, Scarhead, was a very flirty drunk. 

“Hey, get me another one of these will you?” Harry said, a little louder than usual, nudging Draco’s shoulder that was rested on the bar. Surprisingly, the blond haired boy complied. There’s a first for everything. 

“‘Scuse me, can I have two Fire Whiskeys please, sir?” Draco giggled slightly, for no apparent reason other than being under the influence of a little too much wizards’ alcohol, which was easier to get drunk off. 

“You know Malfoy, I never did hate you. Quite like you, in fact.” He spoke with a slight slur. Draco nearly spat out his drink, then, in a failed attempt to compose himself, nearly fell of his barstool backwards. Harry steadied him with a strong hand on his small, jean clad thigh. Malfoy immediately blushed, but didn’t make anything close to an attempt to push him off. Harry did that himself. Harry realised what he’d done was probably not a good idea and pulled his hand away almost immediately, although he definitely didn’t want to. 

“Can we talk about something?” Draco asked, worry thick in his voice. Harry would usually be concerned about what he was going to say, but the alcohol changed that, and he didn’t really care at the minute. 

“And what exactly did you have in mind, Mr Malfoy?” Harry smirked and took another drink of his Fire Whiskey. It made Draco smile as well, but rather wistfully. 

“I want to talk about our past. Us. When we were at school together. What went on and... yeah.” His voice was small, almost embarrassed. 

“You mean like the time you climbed a tree and then jumped down just to insult me.” This made Malfoy chuckle, a laugh that he surely would have tried to suppress if it weren’t for the fact he was very drunk. Bloody lightweight. 

“Yes I do remember that, I also remember moments after, being transfigured into a ferret, Potter, perhaps that failed to grab your attention.” Draco smirked, looking Harry in the eye. If the Boy Who Lived hadn’t been so drunk, perhaps he’d have noticed the way Draco’s eyes flicked down to Harry’s soft lips. 

“Oh, Draco, you were so much cuter as a small furry animal.” Harry sighed, staring dreamily at his glass that was held in front of his face. 

“Well, Harry, I’m delighted you take account of my cuteness.” They both laughed through a grin, and the conversation carried on. 

After about half an hour they’d already gone through their funnier moments, more of the lighthearted ones, such as Draco getting ‘brutally savaged’ (his words) by Buckbeak, or their duel in second year. 

Harry decided to be the one to free the elephant in the room. 

“Why didn’t you identify me? To Bellatrix, I mean.” Harry said, almost whispered. He’d been dying to get the answer since he asked Draco the same question in the room of requirement, though Harry knew he wouldn’t have answered in front of his friends. 

“I didn’t want to. I- god I can’t believe I’m about to say this, Harry. I care about you. I don’t hate you, and I never have, never will. If I’d have identified you, I hate to think what would have happened to you. That dark mark- it doesn’t mean anything to me. It was always my father, I never wanted this, I- fuck, Harry, I just want to be normal.” Draco had almost started crying, threatening tears starting to pool in his blue grey orbs as they pricked at his pupils, making him blink them away. 

“Hey, hey hey hey, shh, sh, Draco it’s okay!” Harry said in his most soothing voice possible, scooting his stool closer to Draco’s and putting an arm round him, which prompted the blond haired boy to nuzzle into Harry’s side, his head on Harry’s shoulder. Harry felt less stupidly drunk right now, coming to his senses a little more. 

Draco shivered, pulling his sleeves firmly over his forearms and over his hands, gripping them in a fist with his skinny fingers. 

“Are you cold?” Harry whispered into Draco’s slightly pink ear, which made Draco blush even more. He nodded quickly, but frowned when Harry got up from his chair. 

Harry walked to the other side of the pub to the coat rails, grabbing his black denim jacket with a fur lining and fur collar and walking back over to Draco’s cold form. Harry quickly grabbed Draco’s hand and pulled him outside the Leaky Cauldron, out into the dingy streets. He handed Draco the huge jacket and watched him reluctantly slip into it, but then instantly snuggle up inside the warm fur inside. 

“Warm...” Draco mumbled into the collar, inhaling Harry’s scent. Harry couldn’t help but grin at how adorable and innocent Draco looked in that moment, it was as if his past faded away and all that mattered was now, and the warmth of Harry’s coat around his small frame. 

“I understand why you did it. Thank you.” Harry said after a few minutes. It was snowing outside, and Harry realised it was December. He had been oblivious to people’s merry spirits and Christmas cheer until he noticed what month it was. 

“Harry...” Draco sounded reluctant, as if he was about to tell Harry something that Harry may not approve of. 

“Hm?” Harry raised his eyebrows. 

“I erm, I got something done, just a few weeks ago. I’m not sure what to think of it. I want a second opinion.” Harry was confused, but then he saw what Draco was doing. 

He had just begun taking Harry’s jacket off, handing it to him and smiling gratefully, then rolling up the thick sleeve of his jumper, and undoing the cuff of his pastel shirt. Underneath, Harry expected to see a dark mark, what he knew had been under that sleeve since Draco was in sixth year. 

Instead, Harry saw something beautiful. Over the mark, the sign of Voldemort, there were and array of pale coloured flowers, littering the milky skin of Draco’s forearm. They covered a small surface around the mark, and danced in between the snake and over the edges of the skull. They were pink, blue, green, purple, yellow, every soft colour in the world, tattooed on Draco’s perfect skin. It was a muggle tattoo, Harry could tell by the stillness, the stationary beauty of the flowers that made what was Draco’s biggest mistake into a work of art. A single snowflake fell onto the skin, where there was a flower that held a colour that was like Harry’s eyes, but more muted, and Harry smiled. 

“Oh, Draco, it’s beautiful.” Harry said, closing the gap between them to cup Draco’s arm in his strong, tanned hand and ran his finger over the smooth edges and beautiful colours. Draco smiled up at Harry through watery eyes. “You’re the first person I’ve shown this to, Harry.” He said, his voice hoarse from the lump in his throat that he was trying so hard to swallow down. 

Acting on pure instinct, Harry reached up and cupped Draco’s cheek with his hand, his thumb on the corner of the blond boy’s pale pink lips. His lips parted and Harry’s thumb slipped into his mouth. Draco sucked on it, looking into Harry’s eyes, seeking approval the whole time. Harry broke the silence. 

“Kiss me.” 

And Draco did as Harry said, for the second time that night. Draco kissed him with what can only be described as pure passion. He got on his toes to close the height difference that had developed of the course of a year, and threaded one hand in Harry’s messy black curls, the other resting on his bicep, hidden by the fabric of his jumper. Harry kissed Draco as if he was making up for years of missed kisses. Maybe he was. He ran his tongue along Draco’s bottom lip, and his mouth parted, allowing Harry’s tongue to slip in, meeting Draco’s tongue in his mouth. Without breaking the incredible kiss once, Harry got his coat and wrapped it around Draco’s slight shoulders, smiling into the kiss at how eager the blond haired boy was to be kissing the Chosen One, his so called school rival. 

Harry could tell Draco was getting tired from trying to stay on his toes the whole time, so Harry’s hands travelled down, down to Draco’s back and round his hips and arse, to underneath his thighs, and picked him up, still not breaking the kiss once. When he had Draco in the air, he made a startled noise into Harry’s mouth, and opened his own a little more in surprise, into an ‘o’ shape as he gasped, which Harry found incredibly hot, but then he adjusted to the change of position, and wrapped his legs around Harry’s waist, then holding the curly haired boy’s face with both hands for more leverage. To Draco’s dismay, Harry stopped kissing him after what felt like ten years, but still didn’t seem enough, and smiled up at his grinning, giggling face. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that.” Draco spoke in a breathy voice, and then wound his long thin arms around Harry’s neck. He buried his head into the crook of the taller boy’s neck, and just held it there for a moment, breathing heavily. Then, purely to get a reaction out of Harry, he started sucking on his neck, underneath and to the side of his Adam’s apple. Harry let out a surprised, disgruntled noise, that quickly turned into a moan, which Draco grinned evilly at. 

“Hold on tight, Ferret.” Harry muttered into Draco’s ear, and they disappeared into thin air with a crack. They apparated quickly, their bodies pressed tightly together as they whirled through a nauseating tunnel, like a whirlpool in the sea, or a hurricane. When they reached Harry’s flat, Harry instantly plonked down on the sofa, Draco ending up straddling his lap. 

“Don’t ever call me Ferret again, you bloody bastard.” Draco said through a suppressed smile, his hands bunched in Harry’s jumper and his forehead pressed to the scarred, tanned one in front of him. 

“You know what? I always knew you wanted to shag me, Potter.”


End file.
